


A Beating Beat

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Clubbing, Face Slapping, M/M, No Kink Negotiation, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabe experiences something new within the old framework of a night out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beating Beat

They’re out dancing. This isn’t a particularly new event. It’s new in the span of the universe, pretty much, a flash of a event after the million of years where there were no clubs or parties. But as far as Gabe and Mikey go, it’s a night like any other night like any other day where they cram into a basement and pretend the sun isn’t shining like any evening where there are three pregaming parties before they wind up at whatever club it is.

They all look the same to Gabe. There’s the lights, the cute bartenders, the hoards of people grinding on each other. The mad search for parking, the cover fee, the lack of toilet paper in the bathrooms. Except he’s done this too often and he knows all the clubs by heart. They live inside him, and he knows them like he imagines the oxygen in his bloodstream knows whether it’s going to his fingertips or kidneys or kneecaps.

These lights are pinpricks of green. These bartenders are both bleach blond with mohawks, the girl’s tall and spiked, the boy’s not gelled and just a white-yellow stripe down the middle of his head. These women are grinding against just as many men as women because they don’t feel the need to impress, these men are grinding against men because they want to and they can. This parking spot was a Dunkin Donuts a five minute walk away, this cover was a flash of a membership card and a ten dollar bill, getting five ones back. These bathrooms have tiny mirrors and pedestal sinks. Gabe doesn’t have to check the matchsticks to know he’s at Wake.

The dance floor is small, smaller than most of the stages he’s been on. He doesn’t care, he loves the small places just as much as the massive three story clubs with different styles of music on each floor. In the small clubs you get to press against other people more, get closer. You get brushed against when people are pushing to get outside for a smoke, one obviously desperate person followed by the three or four friends they brought with them. You get bodychecked when a new song comes on and a handful of maniacs by the bar decide it’s ‘their song’ and they push through the crowd to get as close to the speakers as they can. In a small crowd you can notice when some beautiful girl has another girl by the wrist and she’s leading her out of the club so they can go have sweaty sex in their car. It’s a modern tale of romance, and Gabe loves being able to see it.

He grinds against Mikey as they listen to all the beats that smear into others, only the transition of male singer to female letting them know when a song has changed. They’ve got one car between them. If Gabe feels like picking up he’ll go home with the man or woman, or get Mikey to drop them off, and the same goes for Mikey. If both pick up one of them can taxi to get the cab from Dunkin Donuts in the morning. Or they could go home together, try to watch a movie as they wait for their ears to stop ringing and their feet to stop aching, or fuck each other with blueberry lube and flavoured condoms. Every bar night has infinite possibilities, and that’s why they go out every night. Neither wants to hear that things are impossible.

Gabe thinks he’s been dancing for about three hours -it’s hard to tell, bars don’t exactly have clocks on the wall, he just knows they haven’t done last call yet- when it happens. A guy that’s miraculously even taller than him is dancing erratically, probably on something more exotic than alcohol, legs kicking and arms flailing. He flails harder as a harder beat comes on and when he flings out his arm the back of his hand hit Gabe hard in the face. The guy doesn’t even notice to apologise.

Normally Gabe would be ready to start a fight over it. He enjoys a bit of drama at a club as much as the next person. This time it’s different. Normally he’s being shoved, or some asshole spills a drink on him, or says something moronic about him or Mikey, and it pisses him off. But this is a different form of aggression. A slap in the face is completely fucking different, and it should piss him off even more, it’s more personal and offensive, or at least it should be. But he doesn’t pull back his arm and punch the guy. Instead his cock surges to hardness and he ruts against Mikey for a few seconds before regaining control of himself.

Mikey doesn’t say anything, which Gabe is eternally grateful for. One, because he’s not exactly sure how to explain to him that he got hard from being bitch-slapped, and two because to actually ask or answer they’d have to lean close and shout in each other’s ears. Gabe’s trying to get softer. Pressing close against Mikey will not help this.

Maybe five changes of song later they take a drinks break. Gabe gets what he always gets, three shots of vodka and a Long Island Ice Tea to chase them with. Mikey asks for a handful of fruity coolers. Gabe doesn’t mock him for it because he knows Mikey can handle his real alcohol if he partakes, it’s just one of them has to be semi-sober for the drive home. They sit at one of the small tables on the lounge side of the club and pull out their phones. Gabe texts Ryland and Victoria, both of whom are also out clubbing. He doesn’t know who Mikey’s talking to, his contact list is several hundred. If it’s an interesting conversation with a mutual friend Mikey will let him read it later.

They never stay until closing. They always stay until it’s close to that time, they’re not the type to bitch and moan and fuck off after last call, there’s a good two hours of dancing left after they stop serving alcohol. But having the music suddenly stop, the flashing lights turn off and overhead lights turn on so you could actually see the spilled drinks under your feet instead of feeling the slippery ice crunch and half dried alcohol clinging, they don’t want it. It would kill the magic that their endless nights have. A lesser evil is leaving merely a few songs before the DJ’s warning. Neither of them like looking up from each other and seeing they’re two of five left on the dance floor.

When they leave the bar, Gabe’s hand around Mikey’s wrist because he knows that there’s a better shortcut to the parking lot than walking on the sidewalks like a sucker, he’s stopped mid-argument by someone slapping his face. All the blood in his body rushes up to his reddened cheek, and down to his dick. He gasps and gives himself three seconds with his eyes closed to compose himself. On one hand, a kink of his has just revealed itself and he’s hard as shit and wants to go home and Google porn of it. On the other, someone slapped him outside a club. He’s probably got a bitter one night stand to deal with.

He opens his eyes. It's Pete. Which is far better than angry twink or drunk brunette bombshell, but still. What the fuck? “What the fuck Pete?”

“Mikey told me you might like it, but he didn't want to do it, so he asked me if I'd be willing. Pass up a chance to slap you with no repercussions? Yeah, I don't think so.”

It’s not like Gabe hasn’t had sex with Pete before. He’s had sex with all his friends, how can you know if they’re gonna have your back forever if you can’t even trust them enough to fuck them or have them fuck you? It’s just he never pictured Pete being super-kinky. He glances at Mikey, who he knows has been with Pete a lot more often than he has for silent mind-reading confirmation thing he does so well.

“I’ll jerk you off while he hits you, if you want.” The tone is even, flat. It’s Mikey’s fronting voice, and that pisses him off because that’s not what they do around each other. Mikey should just say ‘I don’t know if this is what you wanted, I’m sorta freaked I might fuck things up between us, or that you’ll get too into this’ instead of being flat. Except yelling at him for being flat isn’t the way Gabe’s going to get him to stop it.

“That would be fucking amazing,” he says instead. Because it will. Short term, having Pete slap him until he’s coming all over Mikey’s hand will be brilliant. Any consequences will come after, and therefore he doesn’t have to think about them until after.


End file.
